Remember, Remember the Fifth of November
by Mizaya
Summary: Hermione didn't relish visiting the twins' shop on an errand, but she knew that if Harry and Ron went they'd end up buying loads of superfluous novelties. She would never do that!


A/N: I must beg any Brits to forgive me if my rendition of Guy Fawkes Night isn't accurate—I researched the holiday as much as possible. Thank you to TheGiantSquid for always being my quick, supportive, awesome beta! Reviews are welcome and appreciated. Enjoy!

Remember, Remember the Fifth of November

Remember, remember the fifth of November,

The gunpowder, treason, and plot.

I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason

Should ever be forgot.

-From a popular nursery rhyme

Diagon Alley was always busy on Saturdays, with witches and wizards running weekend errands or going window shopping with their children or grabbing lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione noticed a solemn sort of rush to the crowd, though, and a dreary quality to the area that hadn't been there when she'd first visited years ago. Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor was still closed, its owner presumed dead and the awning over its boarded door collapsing. Quality Quidditch Supplies was unusually subdued, too, and she didn't see anyone so much as glance at the Nimbus 2003 that magically rotated in the window display. 

Still, it wasn't as bad as the year before, and as she worked her way past the buildings, heading for number 96, she noticed that although the drab purple Ministry posters were on every wall, the shoddy, makeshift booths run by snake-oil merchants were all gone now. And as she traveled through Diagon Alley, toward her destination, the atmosphere became brighter. Clearly the cheerfulness of Fred and George Weasley's shop was contagious, and like a brush fire it was spreading to its neighbors. Hermione could see how storefronts grew more colorful and well kept as she drew close to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes itself, the epicenter of the rainbow explosion. It was just as vibrant as she remembered—more so—and a steady stream of people filed in and out, with still more milling about on the street, reading the flashing sign. It didn't advertise digestion-inhibitors anymore.

GUY FAWKES EFFIGIES

LIFESIZED AND LONGLASTING

EMIT SPARKS AS THEY BURN

NOW WITH REALISTIC SCREAMING!

One of the effigies hung from the sign, straw poking out of its sleeves and trousers. The face was very lifelike, which Hermione found a little disconcerting, and she swore she saw it blink. Several elderly witches nearby were discussing how in their youth they'd had to make their effigies from scratch, and fireworks too, and wasn't it nice that these lads were bringing convenience to the holiday. One of the witches, who was the most wrinkled person Hermione had ever seen, even said that her great-great-grandfather had been in the House of Parliament when Fawkes was found with his torch and the barrels of gunpowder. At Hogwarts they hadn't celebrated Guy Fawkes Night, so Hermione had assumed it wasn't part of wizarding culture. Apparently she had been wrong. Her expression turned to a grimace as she observed the old witches laughing and reminiscing—she'd always thought it was a terrible, violent thing to celebrate with such joy. 

Disregarding the effigy and its admirers, she wormed her way through the onlookers and squeezed through the shop entrance. It was even busier inside, and for a few moments she looked around at all the gizmos and displays. Some of the products were just as she remembered them, such as Reusable Hangmen and the infamous Skiving Snackboxes, and some, like the Pygmy Puffs, were improved (she counted five colors in addition to the original pink and purple). There were just as many new creations, though: self-tying shoelaces, Quidditch-like hoops for lawn gnome target practice, instant hair dye in varieties like blue stripes and yellow spots, tiny glowing nightlights that would hover about your head, trick wristwatches that never told the correct time. They had special Guy Fawkes Night items, too. There were the effigies, piled up and accented with fake flames like a giant inferno; Wild-Fire Whiz-Bang fireworks in a prominent place against the wall; and even Bonfire Toffees, which guaranteed the ability to breathe fire for at least ten seconds.

Hermione remembered, looking at the enticing array of merchandise, why she had insisted on coming here herself instead of Ron or Harry: they'd get lost in the shop for hours and come back to Grimmauld Place with loads of useless novelties rather than what they needed. Even so, Hermione couldn't resist poking around.

She had just picked up a package of Awake and Alerts ("Animated eyes to wear on your eyelids so no professor will be able to tell you're sleeping in class!") when a girl's voice said, "Can I help you find a particular color? Medium brown should do."

Looking up, Hermione immediately recognized Verity, whom she'd met on her last trip to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The blonde, who was wearing the standard magenta robes, didn't seem to recognize Hermione, though.

"Oh no…no, I'm not here for these. I need to speak with Fred and George. I'm a friend of—of their brother's." She'd almost said Harry Potter. Not only would that come off as pompous, however true it may be, it could also attract unwanted attention.

"Of course!" Verity exclaimed, though Hermione could tell she still had no recollection of their previous meeting. "I'll get them right away." She hailed someone behind Hermione. "Mr. Weasley, a customer for you!"

"How may I be of assistance?" George said jovially as he approached. He was as freckled as ever, and he was wearing a ridiculous yellow wizard's hat that didn't go with his uniform or his complexion in any way. When he saw Hermione, his expression brightened even more and he put his arm around her shoulders. "My dear Hermione, what brings you here today?"

"Shield gear," she answered plainly, pulling away from his arm a tiny bit. She preferred George to Fred, who could be almost cruel at times, especially to Ron, but she wasn't overly fond of either of them. Or their antics.

"Thank you, Verity, I'll take it from here. This way, this way." He led Hermione through the shop, his hand still on her shoulder, and schmoozed customers as they passed. "Oh yes, that's a wonderful choice—Try turning it the other way—That color matches your nose perfectly—Watch out, they're known to bite if provoked—There's a sale on those, half off if you buy any Boiling Boils."

As they approached the curtain that marked the entrance to the back area of the shop, George whistled to Fred, who was working with their friend Lee Jordan behind the counter. Fred's face brightened in the exact same way George's had when he saw Hermione, and as soon as his customer paid he headed straight for her.

"Hermione! You finally came to pick up your free Daydream Charm! We make personalized versions now, you know. Anyone you'd like to add to your dream?" He waggled his eyebrows conspiratorially.

"Shield gear," she repeated in a flat voice, unmoved by Fred's jokes—though she was still impressed with their magic on those Daydream Charms and she had to resist entertaining the idea of a personalized one. "I need several sets of hats, cloaks, gloves, and whatever other items you may have now."

"I see you haven't lost that delightful bossiness we've come to admire so much," George said, grinning and pulling back the curtain so Hermione could step through to the back area, where their Defensive Magic line was housed. It was devoid of customers at the moment; the change from bustling, flashing, and loud to calm, dark, and quiet was slightly alarming. They must have put some sort of Silencing Spell on the curtain.

"And I'm only paying half price," she said once she had turned back around the face the boys. "Ron and I think you should give them to us for free, but Harry insists."

Fred clutched his hands to his chest and looked up wistfully, as though overcome with happiness. "Oh no, George, it's only getting better with age. Sweet, sweet Hermione, of course we'll sell these to you half-price. And Harry's will be free, of course." Then, in a much less cloying tone, "But Ron has to pay in full."

George, meanwhile, had started taking boxes from the shelves and tossing them onto the floor—three of each product—and as Hermione watched him she frowned. "But that still amounts to half price."

Pausing in his task, George said, "We know, but breaking it down like that helps us sleep better at night. We couldn't live with ourselves if we knowingly gave Ickle Ronniekins a discount."

Hermione tutted and began neatly stacking the Shield Cloaks, Hats, Gloves, Boots, and Tunics that George had collected for her. She knew beyond a doubt that the twins loved Ron, but sometimes they had a very strange way of showing it. Maybe, as an only child, she'd never fully understand it.

"Is this all you have?"

"All we have, she asks," Fred said, affronted. "All we have! That's our blood and sweat in those things. What else could you want? Shield Knickers? A Shield Parasol for going on an afternoon stroll?"

"Actually," she said, rolling her eyes, "I was thinking about our legs. I'm not even sure these will do us any good if we're fighting against Death Eaters or Voldemort—or anything else, for that matter—but if so, they leave us unprotected from waist to ankle."

"Did you hear that, Fred? 'I'm not even sure these will do us any good.' And you expect us to give you these at half price! Insult us some more, why don't you, and maybe we'll throw in a Portable Swamp and some Canary Creams."

Hermione sighed. "They're wonderful and I'm sure they'll work perfectly. Now do you have anything in the way of trousers?" She left the pile of boxes and stood and faced the twins, who were looking rather surly now that she'd offended them. She hadn't meant to, she was just tired and frustrated, and the fact that she, Harry, and Ron even needed this equipment scared her more than she could let on. What if it didn't work? They would depend on this gear to be their defense against minor spells so they could go on the offensive when they faced the Dark Lord and his minions at long last. On parchment it seemed a good plan, an added bit of protection, but in reality…

The twins had now crossed their arms, and they were shooting each other skeptical, exaggeratedly wounded looks.

"What do you think, George?"

"I don't know, Fred. She's being awfully tetchy. I don't think we should show her."

"No, neither do I. Entirely too tetchy."

"Show me what?" Hermione asked.

"Will you stop being tetchy?"

"I'm not tetchy!"

The twins looked at each other again, nodded, and headed back into the main part of the shop. For a moment Hermione thought they weren't coming back, but they returned quickly with three unmarked white boxes. Fred set his down and pulled from it what looked like Quidditch shin guards or medieval leg armor—curved plates adorned with straps for tying around the calves and thighs—only the material was neither cows leather nor metal. She took the one Fred held out and turned it over in her hands.

"What is this? Dragon hide?" It seemed too thick, though, and it didn't have the metallic shimmer that dragon hide usually boasted.

"Well, well, well, she almost sounds impressed, doesn't she?"

"Indeed," George said smugly.

"Not dragon hide," Fred told Hermione. "I don't think we'll tell you what they're made of, but they're magic resistant and they should work as well as our Shield line. These are still in development, so they're top secret. We're willing to part with them…in exchange for an apology."

"You did hurt our feelings ever so much."

"I'm sorry," she said with a sincere smile. "These are exactly what I had in mind. Better."

The twins beamed.

"They're troll hide, aren't they?" she asked as they picked up her boxes and ushered her out of the back room.

"Don't know what you're on about," George told her, but he sent her a wink.

Fred and George really were brilliant at what they did, she couldn't begrudge them that. She'd never heard of anyone using troll hide in that manner before, but it made a great deal of sense, seeing as trolls had the same resistance to enchantments as their cousins the giants. She wasn't even going to begin to wonder how they'd procured the material—she had a feeling she wouldn't like the answer.

After setting her equipment on the counter, the twins turned back to her. "Is that all you need?" asked George. "Can we interest you in a Smart-Answer Quill? Maybe a Punching Telescope for old time's sake? Or what about an orange Pygmy Puff for Ron? It's his favorite color, you know."

"At least take your complimentary Daydream Charm," Fred added.

Hermione shook her head. "No, this is all." As she said it, though, her eyes drifted to the large display of Whiz-Bangs. Looking at them, she got an idea. "Wait! How much for the fireworks? What about a variety pack?"

Fred and George glanced at each other in identical surprise.

"The Basic Blaze Box is on sale for three Galleons. We'll give it to you for two."

"Deflagration Deluxe is going for sixteen. We'll say…twelve for you."

Hermione hefted the coin purse in her hand. She thought she had enough. "The second, if you please."

Shooting each other yet another surprised look, the twins hurried to get her one of the larger boxes. Hermione carefully counted out her payment—sixty-three Galleons, fourteen Sickles, and three Knuts—and left Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes feeling rather more cheerful than when she had arrived. She even laughed quietly to herself when, as she walked back toward the Leaky Cauldron, she realized that Fred had thrown in the customizable Daydream Charm anyway.

* * *

"_Incendio!_"

The pile of wood immediately went up in a blaze, and Hermione slipped her wand back into her pocket.

"I can't believe you did this," said Ron. "It's fantastic!"

"Yeah!" Harry added enthusiastically.

Hermione shared a smile with both of them. She'd considered telling them as soon as she'd returned from the twins' shop that they were going to have their own Guy Fawkes Night party, with a bonfire, butterbeer, sweets, and even fireworks, but she'd decided that it would be more fun to keep it a secret. Fred and George may have been joking when they said she was bossy and had hurt their feelings, but Hermione knew there was truth to it. She'd been exhausted and cranky lately—they all had—and who could really blame them?

"We needed this," she said quietly, meaning it only for herself.

"What was that?" Ron asked around a sticky mouthful of toffee.

"Oh…I said we should start lighting off the Whiz-Bangs."

"Here," Harry said, sliding the package to her across the ground. "What all is in there? Any of those dragon ones?"

"I'm not sure. Let's see."

They laughed and ate until the sun was almost peeking over the horizon, and despite bellies full of sugar and several singed eyebrows and burnt fingers, they slept more peacefully that night than they had in ages.

The End


End file.
